


one steamy summer night

by GuenVanHelsing



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Professors, Bobo is a dumbass, Doc is a dumbass, Explicit Sexual Content, Hollirey, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Very Little Plot mostly it is Feelings, i guess, this is self indulgent drivel and i have some regrets but not that many, very lite bc i did zero research oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/pseuds/GuenVanHelsing
Summary: A last-minute drop-out meant Bobo del Rey was spending the few sweet warm months teaching at a summer college camp, alongside the hottest omega he's ever met. Their summer fling was strictlyno strings attached,but it seemed that was easier said than done...
Relationships: Doc Holliday/Bobo Del Rey | Robert Svane
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	one steamy summer night

Summer classes wasn’t something that usually interested Bobo del Rey -- summer was his chance to put aside all thoughts of teaching and grading and everything that came with it and just  _ relax _ for a few months. Maybe travel. Read a few books. 

But the dean of the college had approached him on the last day of finals and said, “Hey, any chance you could fill in for a colleague of mine that teaches summer courses?” 

Bobo hadn’t had any plans, and the stipend was  _ enormous _ for some reason, so he’d said yes. 

Like a fool. 

The dean’s ‘colleague’ hadn’t been teaching summer classes at the college, no. He’d been teaching them  _ at a summer college camp. _

Bobo drove in to the parking lot of Camp Placid and immediately felt out of place on his motorcycle amidst all the minivans and subaru hatchbacks, not to mention his bike had skidded twice on the soft dirt of the road that led up to the camp. 

He’d barely killed the engine and knocked down the kickstand when a skinny-ass young man came tearing across the parking lot to skid to a stop in front of him. 

_ “Please _ tell me your name is Rey,” said the guy, his face practically pleading. “Er, del Rey?” 

“Bobo is fine,” said Bobo, dismounting his bike. “I was informed that orientation for professors starts today…?” 

“Oh!” said the man, running a hand over his already ruffled hair. It didn’t help. “Yes, well. Most of the staff have already settled into their… cabins… er, where’s your stuff?” 

“My stuff,” repeated Bobo blankly, and the man nodded. 

“You know, clothes and things. Toiletries? Stuff?” The man’s eyes widened when Bobo just continued to stare at him like he’d grown a second head. “Did-- did no one tell you this is a  _ camp?” _

“Excuse me,” said Bobo, keeping his tone as polite as he could while internally he was throwing darts at the dean’s forehead, “are you telling me that the  _ professors _ are meant to  _ camp here _ as well as the students?” 

The man nodded, almost fearfully, and Bobo bit back a sigh. 

This was going to be a long fucking summer. 

\-- 

Bobo surveyed the cabin he’d been assigned to -- there was a metal, elaborate  _ 4 _ tacked to the wall next to the door, above a small, old fashioned flap mailbox. 

The interior was sparse, although there was a legitimate mattress on the bed that didn’t seem too bad when he inspected it. There was a second bed, too, but only one had been outfitted with sheets, and a simple dresser with four drawers near the back of the cabin. A very dim lamp, and an even dimmer overhead light when he flicked the switch, but at the very least there were screens on the windows and a lock on the door to which he had been given a key for. 

“Why, hello there, neighbor.” 

Bobo let the door swing shut as he stepped out of the cabin, blinking in the bright summer sunlight at the man sauntering toward him. A deep sniff as the man stopped a few feet away from him told him that the guy was partial to scent inhibitors -- Bobo sneezed. 

“Sorry about that,” said the man, not sounding sorry at all, and took a step to the side so Bobo was no longer downwind of him. “Looks like we’ll be neighbors.” He offered his hand. “Doc Holliday.” 

“Bobo del Rey.” Bobo shook the man’s hand -- he had a firm grip, and the calloused fingers of a man who  _ worked. _ And a fucking ridiculous mustache that was almost as stupid as Wyatt’s had been. He was cute -- if he didn’t  _ reek _ of suppressants. “You taught here before?” 

“First time,” said the other man cheerfully. “You?” Bobo nodded. “Cool, we can be camp virgins together. You all settled in?” 

Bobo opened his mouth to say,  _ No, I didn’t get the memo that I was meant to move in for the summer, _ but what came out was, “There any place to get a drink around here?” 

And Doc’s grin widened to blinding levels, and he clapped Bobo on the shoulder. “I know just the place.” 

\--

Orientation was a breeze, with Doc making snide remarks under his breath at his side, cracking jokes in the dining hall, and… 

...warming his bed every night that entire first week, once Bobo had given in and driven his truck out with a backpack and a duffel bag of all the things he’d need for the next few months. 

Bobo hadn’t intended to fall in bed with his coworker -- actually, he tried very hard  _ not _ to even at his regular damned workplace -- but Doc had come back to Bobo’s cabin for an after-hours game of cards and some sneaky beers, and Doc had leaned across the cards strewn on the floor and kissed him. 

As soon as Doc’s tongue slipped into his mouth, Bobo  _ knew. _ No amount of suppressants could block  _ that, _ not when it was right on his tongue, and Bobo broke the kiss with a growl, pressing a firm hand to Doc’s chest. 

“I don’t fuck around with omegas,” he said, unable to keep all of the snarl from his voice, and Doc just grinned, his lips blush red from their kiss. 

“Not even a li’l summer fling?” drawled Doc. His hand was still cupping the back of Bobo’s head, short fingernails scratching lightly at the shorter hair at his nape. “Trust me, it’s a risk-free agreement. Ah’m sure you have plenty of lovers back in your city, and I have enough to satisfy me in mine, but  _ here…” _ His fingers gripped the back of Bobo’s neck a little more firmly, just enough to make Bobo bristle. “I’m not looking for any strings, and I’ve a feeling that neither are you. Just a bit of summer fun, to keep these long nights from dragging on anymore than they already do.” He leaned in close again, his breath hot against Bobo’s skin, almost close enough to kiss. “I’m on enough suppressants that we ain’t need worry about any rugrats popping up, either.” 

“No marking,” said Bobo. Doc’s chest was warm under his hand, rumbling with his voice. “No strings.” 

“No marking,” said Doc, and kissed him again, slow and deep. “No strings.” 

“Just a summer fling,” murmured Bobo, and grabbed Doc by his stupid button down shirt to haul him onto his lap. 

\-- 

Sleeping with an omega would always be different than sleeping with betas, or other alphas. Even with Doc’s suppressants clinging to his nose -- making him sneeze at inopportune moments,  _ including _ when he was trying to finger Doc open, which made Doc cackle at him like a deranged hyena -- he could still taste the uncanny omega scent on him, especially when they kissed. 

Maybe that’s why he liked kissing Doc so much, not just the fact that Doc was a  _ great _ kisser. 

Eating Doc out was just as pleasant, and having Doc’s scent smeared over his face and beard after making Doc come from just his tongue,  _ then _ Bobo would crawl back up Doc’s body and chase that taste right in his mouth while sinking into Doc’s body. The tight, wet heat of him, the moans falling from his mouth when Bobo nipped at his bared throat, tongue rasping over the stubble there as he kissed his way up Doc’s jaw,  _ that _ was what had Bobo opening his door to Doc night after night. 

Hell, it had been two weeks since Doc had even  _ slept _ in his own cabin, and most of Doc’s clothes were crammed into the dresser alongside Bobo’s. Waking up with their scents entwined, his nose in Doc’s hair,  _ that _ was what had Bobo sighing softly and closing his eyes for another five minutes of rest before they started their day. 

If he didn’t sneeze into Doc’s hair, that is -- since that was enough to make Doc swear and swat at him. 

And it was  _ always _ pleasant to have a partner who gave as good as he got, and Doc gave all that and more, if he was able. Nor was he against the occasional fucking of Bobo for a change of pace, especially when their  _ discussions _ from the dining hall -- quite entertaining to the students, it seemed -- continued to the bed. 

That one night, their hair and skin damp from the rain, the thunder rumbling in the sky above them and the lamp flickering valiantly on, Bobo had pushed Doc flat on his back on the mattress and kissed him, Doc’s fingers brushing questioningly further back, until Bobo grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand back where he wanted it, and Doc had worked him open with his own slick and the lube Bobo had half a brain cell left to grab from his bag. 

When Doc had finally removed his fingers and slicked up his dick, Bobo had knocked his hand aside so he could line himself up and sink down onto him in one smooth motion, and the groan that had been knocked from his chest was worth the aggravating wait of Doc murmuring,  _ not yet, you’re not ready yet, _ for the past ten minutes. 

Later, when they were both sated and the sheets were tangled around their legs and there was enough cum and slick drying on their skin to be uncomfortable in an hour or so, Bobo pressed a brief kiss to Doc’s collarbone and said, “You’re fucking me more often, John Henry.” 

_ John Henry. _

The man’s name even  _ tasted _ sweet, when Doc had offered it to him one evening alone in the woods, picking their way up the trail back from the lake. 

_ John Henry Holliday. _

“If you say so,” drawled Doc, pulling him back down onto his chest. Doc was  _ warm, _ almost burningly so, the heat of the sun still lingering on his skin. “Shower?” 

“In a minute...” 

\--

“We’re packing up tomorrow, then.” 

Bobo raised an eyebrow at Doc from over his hand of cards -- shitty, since Doc had dealt them, and Bobo was willing to bet actual money that Doc was a goddamned card sharp. “Ready to sleep in an actual bed again?” 

“What, you tired of the good ol’ camp mattress already?” Doc grinned when Bobo rolled his eyes at him. “We’re lucky it hasn’t broken, for all we’ve asked of it these past few months.” 

...yeah.  _ Months. _ Bobo hadn’t had that much sex on the regular in  _ years, _ not since he and Wyatt had tried dating --  _ again, _ and had broken up when it had turned to shit,  _ again _ \-- and it had been  _ nice. _

It would be…  _ different, _ to go back to his lonely apartment, to go back to sleeping alone. 

Bobo couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so peacefully, other than in Doc Holliday’s arms. 

_ No strings, _ he reminded himself, and offered Doc a faint smile. “We’ll see if it survives the night, then.” 

Doc smirked. “Got something in mind?” he purred, leaning forward a bit, not close enough to kiss, and Bobo  _ wanted _ to kiss him, just then. 

So Bobo leaned in and kissed him. 

Because he could. 

...for one more night, at least. 

Just for one more night, he could kiss Doc Holliday, and pretend-- 

“I want to fuck you,” he murmured, when Doc finally broke the kiss for a gasp of air, and the other man chuckled. “I want…” 

“Tell me,” said Doc, his voice low, gravelly. “Tell me what you want.” His teeth grazed Bobo’s bottom lip, scraping lightly, only letting go to kiss him again.  _ “Tell me.” _

“I want to fuck you until you fucking smell like me,” growled Bobo, and he dropped his cards, lunging forward to catch Doc by the arms, and Doc fell backwards with the weight of him, staring up at him from the floor, his hair a messy halo around his head and his pupils blown wide and dark. “I want to fuck you til you’d scream my name if you had any voice left to scream it, I want you fucked out and feeling it tomorrow even after we’ve parted ways.” 

Doc’s fingers gripped the back of Bobo’s neck, jerking him down close, and Doc’s grin was as fiery as his gaze. “Then do it,” he hissed, smashing their mouths together for a rough kiss.  _ “Fuck me,  _ Bobo.” 

“Robert.” 

The name slipped from his mouth on a whisper, and Bobo froze, half startled that he’d said it at all, and Doc’s grip didn’t ease a wit, his gaze unwavering. “Robert,” repeated Doc, and he said it softly, like a benediction, like it was something  _ precious _ he had been given.  _ “Robert, _ I want you to  _ fuck _ me.”

Bobo kissed him. 

It had been hot that day, and Bobo didn’t think about the searing heat of Doc’s skin on his, once they were free of their clothes and Doc was pushing  _ him _ flat onto the mattress, and for all his back would ache for it in the morning, Bobo let him. Bobo  _ let him, _ let the other man press him down with kisses and his hips straddling Bobo’s, and he let Doc grab him by the wrists and press them into the pillow above his head. 

“You’d let me take you right now, wouldn’t you,” said Doc, his voice a rumble that Bobo could feel all the way through his body. “You’d let me fuck that pretty ass of yours until it was red, until  _ you _ were screaming  _ my _ name.” 

“John Henry--” 

“That’s it,” purred Doc, rocking his hips against Bobo’s, his skin dragging against his almost too dry, with just a hint of slick from Doc settling on his lap, Bobo’s dick rubbing against Doc’s entrance. “Say my name,  _ Robert.” _

“You asshole,” hissed Bobo, and groaned when Doc’s hand closed around his dick, roughly tugging a few times, Bobo’s hips jerking of their own accord. “Doc--”

Doc’s hand tightened on his cock, and Bobo grunted as Doc squeezed, leaning down close to grin at him. “My  _ name, _ Robert. Or I’ll fuck you til this bed breaks.” 

“And how is that--” said Bobo, breaking off with a hiss when Doc’s grip tightened again, “--supposed to convince me  _ not _ to…?” 

Doc kissed him, hard, nipping at his lip and jaw when Bobo growled at him.  _ “Robert.” _

_ “John Henry,” _ murmured Bobo, Doc’s lips brushing against his, and then Doc was pressing a bruising kiss to his mouth all the while guiding himself down onto Bobo’s dick without a bit of preparation.  _ “John--!” _

“Robert,  _ Robert--” _ His name on Doc’s tongue faded into a moan, the man’s body clenching around him, so tight and hot and wet, and Bobo strained against Doc’s grip on his wrists, breathing hard to keep from fucking up into him like he wanted to. Oh  _ god, _ how he wanted to. “C’mon, then,  _ fuck  _ me--”

And Doc lifted himself up, slamming down onto Bobo just as quickly, and in that scant moment that his grip on Bobo’s wrists lessened, Bobo surged upward, jerking his hands free and grabbing Doc’s torso, and Doc  _ grinned _ at him, wild and warm. Bobo growled in response, rolling them over too fast, and his shoulder slammed into the wall beside the bed with enough force to make him grunt in pain, but Doc was liquid heat beneath him, those long legs hooking around his ribs, and Bobo thrust into him fiercely to press him into the mattress. 

_ “John Henry,” _ he said, teeth grazing the skin of Doc’s collarbone, nipping at his shoulder, his throat, pressing kisses in the wake of each graze, breathless from Doc’s legs squeezing against his ribcage as the other man fucked up against him just as hard as Bobo was driving into him. “John Henry,” he whispered, as Doc moaned and cursed at him, feeling his knot start to catch on Doc’s rim, could feel Doc clenching on him with every thrust.  _ “J-- Henry--” _

Doc said something that Bobo couldn’t hear through the growl in his chest and the roar in his ears, jamming his face to the crook of Doc’s shoulder and breathing in the  _ scent _ of him, heady and thick, mouth falling open to breathe hotly against his skin. He wouldn’t bite him, but with Doc’s omega smell filling his head, he  _ wanted _ to sink his teeth into that muscled, sweat-slicked flesh and hold on. 

“Robert,” said Doc, his voice raspy and soft, his head turning and his stubbled jaw pressing into Bobo’s skin,  _ “Robert--” _

His nails were dragging fiery lines down Bobo’s back, ones he’d be feeling in the morning, and he lifted his head, and Doc was kissing him, hips rolling against his, unrelenting, and Bobo groaned into his mouth as he came, hard, fucking his way through it as Doc snarled and thrust back against him until he, too, was groaning and shuddering around him. 

“Fuck,” breathed Bobo, their bodies heavy and tangled together, still deep in Doc and unwilling to move even if he’d been able to. His hips moved as he shifted, trying to get comfortable, and he hissed as Doc clenched down on him and another spurt of come joined the mess already in Doc.  _ “Doc,” _ he snarled, as Doc started rocking his hips again, short, little movements, all that Bobo’s knot locking them together allowed, and Doc  _ laughed, _ grabbing Bobo by the hair and tugging him down for another kiss, moving together with increasing frenzy until both of them moaning without abandon again. 

_ “Good,” _ purred Doc, right in his ear, and just as Bobo was thrusting deep into him, and that pushed him right over the edge again with far too much ease, Bobo cursing and shuddering as Doc’s fingernails clawed at his shoulders. “Good, there you are.  _ Good, _ Robert.” 

“Shut up, John Henry,” grumbled Bobo, settling his body heavily over Doc’s, relaxing a bit more once Doc’s hand stroked down his back in a soothing motion, nails free. The entire cabin reeked of sex and sweet omega scent, and when he tucked his nose back close to Doc’s neck Bobo was pleased to find his own scent mixed with the other man’s. 

“You,” said Doc, and his hand was in Bobo’s hair again, tugging lightly but not enough to convince Bobo to lift his head again, “are an incredibly rude individual, were you aware of this fact?” 

“I’ve been told a time or two.” Bobo hummed against Doc’s skin, aware that the rumble in his chest was more of a purr than was really polite. “Ready for another round?” 

“Insatiable,” muttered Doc, but he was smiling, Bobo could hear it in his voice, could feel it in the subtle shaking of his body as he laughed quietly. “Alright, then, whenever you’re ready. Someone  _ did _ promise I’d be feeling this tomorrow, and frankly, while you have done a delightful job so far, I’m not sure I--  _ urk.” _ Doc was cut off by Bobo’s hands grasping him by the ass and hauling him up onto Bobo’s lap as he knelt on the bed, Doc’s hands flailing to grab onto Bobo. “You--!” 

Bobo bent forward, curling his body around Doc’s as they bent together, biting back a groan as he slid deeper into Doc by biting at Doc’s lip before kissing him, pressing Doc’s shoulders down into the mattress. “I’m not finished yet,” he growled, unable to keep from smiling when Doc’s attempt at a frown kept twitching up in a smirk instead. “Ain’t that right, John Henry?” 

\-- 

Bobo’s apartment was dusty, and the air felt dead even once he’d thrown open every window he could get to just to air the place out. It took an hour for the stuffiness to ease, and even then Bobo had to prowl around the space for a good fifteen minutes just to freshen his scent on everything so it smelled like  _ home _ again. 

Somewhere between long walks in the woods and bad wisecracks in summer student essays, the cabin at Camp Placid had felt more like home than this apartment did anymore. 

Maybe because Doc had been in it, almost every single night. 

Bobo’s leather jacket still smelled like Doc when he hung it up by the door, and he indulged in pressing his face into the soft leather for a moment, just a moment, to breathe in the memory of that scent. 

No biting. No strings. Just a summer fling. 

Bobo had texted Doc to let him know he’d gotten home safely, and Doc had replied in turn, but other than that, the messages sat empty. 

\--

There were no new messages from Doc a week later, not even when Bobo texted him again. Every text alert was startling, something small making his heart race for just a moment, until the name popped up and he saw it was from someone else. 

Never who he wanted it to be. 

Never Doc. 

\--

Eventually, Bobo stopped checking.

\--

Camp Placid and Doc Holliday are a warm, fading memory three years later, when Bobo pauses by the billboard in the hallway to dump his paper bag and napkins from breakfast -- a blueberry muffin, and a cheese croissant, because they’d been fresh and they went well with his coffee -- in the trash can there, and saw the flyer for the camp, advertising a new summer semester. 

Sometimes it was like he’d almost forgotten the whirlwind summer of steamy nights in the cabin, what it had felt like to have a warm omega body snuggled against his while the rain poured outside. 

Sometimes it felt like he’d never get those memories out of his head. 

“Watch out!” yelled someone, the sound of running feet rising, and that was Bobo’s only warning before a small body slammed into his legs. His coffee went flying, his poor travel mug bouncing on the floor once before rolling merrily toward the wall, and Bobo flung out a hand to catch himself on the bit of wall that  _ wasn’t _ billboard and covered in poky tacks to keep from falling over. 

“Sorry!” piped up a very small voice, and Bobo pressed his lips into a thin line to hide a snarl. A  _ child _ had run into him, and was now bouncing from foot to foot and looking very repentant. 

“No running in the halls,” said Bobo sternly, because it  _ was _ a rule, even for very small children who were  _ definitely _ not enrolled in any classes at the college, and the kid looked suitably chagrined, ducking his head under his shaggy dark hair. “Where is your guardian…?” 

“Robbie, I told you to  _ wait _ for me,” growled a familiar voice, and Bobo’s gaze snapped from the pale blue eyes of the kid to the darker blue of the man advancing on them, mouth turned down in a familiar frown under a familiar mustache under a familiar messy mop of dark hair. 

Doc Holliday was standing in front of him, after three years of no contact, with his hands on the shoulders of a kid that had the same smell that was  _ John Henry, _ that was-- 

Bobo breathed in deep on instinct, eyes widening as he looked down at the boy. 

It couldn’t be. 

It was impossible. 

It had to be impossible-- 

“Sorry about that, he’s a bit rambunctious,” said Doc, and Bobo tore his gaze up from the boy to stare at him. “And usually remembers his  _ manners.” _

“I  _ said _ I am sorryyyy,” complained the boy, and Bobo took a step back, bending down to pick up his leaking travel mug -- what little coffee was left no longer smelled appetising. 

“Bobo,” said Doc, and the name felt weird coming from him, felt  _ wrong. _ “It’s been awhile.” 

“It has,” said Bobo quietly. He felt  _ numb. _ “Is he-- your son-- is--” 

“He’ll be three next May,” said Doc, and there’s something in his expression, something pained, but Bobo didn’t care, suddenly. 

He  _ couldn’t _ care, because caring meant doing things he couldn’t, of wanting things he shouldn’t, and-- 

“Late for class,” said Bobo abruptly, turning away, and fled. 

His hands were shaking, and he shoved one into his pocket, keeping the one holding his mug tucked against his chest to hide the trembling. 

That boy-- 

Doc had named him  _ Robert. _

With the lingering scent in his nose, still strong enough for Bobo to choke on with it clinging to the fabric of his pants, there was no mistaking who the father of that boy was. 

And Doc hadn’t told him. 

\--

Doc Holliday was the newest professor joining the faculty. 

Bobo didn’t go to the orientation party. 

He signed the  _ Welcome to our school! _ card, but he didn’t go. 

Someone left a cupcake on his desk in his office. 

He didn’t have the heart to eat it. 

\-- 

Thankfully -- fortuitously -- Bobo’s side of the campus was far from where Doc Holliday’s new office and classes were located, and Bobo spent less time in the cafeteria simply as a way to avoid potentially running into the other man. 

He knew he was hiding, he  _ knew _ it was a cowardly thing to do, not to mention  _ rude, _ but-- 

Doc hadn’t reached out to him about the  _ kid _ they’d made together, so it was a clear signal he did not want Bobo to be part of Robbie’s life. 

Bobo could respect that. 

He wouldn’t  _ like _ it, and he’d wake up with the scent of the omega in his nose more nights than most -- he’d forgotten the last time he’d slept through an entire night -- but he could respect that. 

Even if it was breaking his heart to do so. 

A heart was such a little thing in comparison, wasn’t it? 

\-- 

_ Meet me for lunch at Station Park. -JH _

That was all the note said, the note that he’d found taped to Bobo’s computer, on the frame right above the screen, on a neon yellow sticky note that made him physically ill to look at. 

Or maybe that was because he  _ knew _ that handwriting, and he  _ knew _ what  _ JH _ stood for, and he knew Station Park was within walking distance of the college. 

He’d make it there in time, if he just grabbed something quick from the caf and didn’t wait in line for an actual meal-- 

\--if he actually went. 

Bobo wasn’t sure if he wanted to, really. 

He  _ should. _

Just to see what Doc had to say for himself, maybe ask after Robbie, see if there might be a possibility of visitation rights--

Bobo took a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh and rubbing a hand down his face. 

_ That _ was unlikely. 

No need to get his hopes up. 

Bobo went to the park. It was busy, for a weekday, with plenty of parents and their kids milling around, the kids shrieking and entertained on the swings and playsets and monkey bars. There was even an ice cream truck parked at the corner, monopolising on the nice day to lure more children and their parent’s wallets to indulge in a summery treat while the weather was still pleasant. 

Doc Holliday wasn’t hard to spot -- Bobo simply had to look for the giggling, tittering gathering of parents huddled close to the swings, and follow their flirtatious, furtive glances to the park bench where a lone figure was sitting, long legs sprawled out in front of him and arms spread on the back of the bench, the oh so familiar cowboy hat tipped back over his stupidly handsome face. 

Bobo sneezed as he got closer -- the suppressants were stronger than the kind Doc had worn that one summer, either that or his nose had gotten too sensitive around them. Doc tilted his head up to look at him, gaze blue and calm as the sea before a storm. 

“I’m glad you came,” said Doc, his voice warm, and he sat up, patting the bench beside him. 

Bobo sat. He felt out of place in his suit, so he removed the jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, pushing the paper bag he’d brought toward Doc when he saw the other man watching him. “I brought lunch.” 

Doc’s eyes widened, and he tipped his hat, glancing toward the playground briefly before opening the bag to survey the contents. “Interesting choices,” he drawled, and grinned at Bobo over the paper bag, like they were sitting by the lake and not in a park with more space between them and just a scant foot of air and a paper bag. And he pulled out the single whoopie pie, the kind with dark chocolate frosting, and he grinned. “You remembered.” 

“I never forgot,” said Bobo quietly, and he tore his gaze from Robbie -- tiny legs propelling him around the base of the monkey bars as he chased a friend, both of them shrieking with delight -- to look back at Doc. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Of all the things Bobo wanted to ask --  _ why didn’t you answer my texts, why didn’t you call, why did you just leave it like that, why _ \-- that’s what he cared about the most, in that moment. 

Doc’s face was solemn, eyes flicking over his face as if watching for any reaction. “I, um. Lost your number.”

Bobo stared at him. “What.” 

“I left my phone at the camp!” said Doc, whoopie clutched in his hand as he gestured dramatically. “And when I went back to get it, someone had  _ chucked it in the lake, _ and all my contacts were gone. I had to  _ drive home _ to get a number for my parents again, it was  _ embarrassing.” _ He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly, eyes still trained on Bobo’s. “I didn’t know what school you worked at, or where you lived, and the camp office was  _ extremely _ unhelpful, something about confidentiality--” he waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. By the time I realized-- well. You were not to be found, and I had lifestyle changes to make before Robbie came.” 

“You named him Robert.” 

“Of course I did,” said Doc easily, like it was nothing, like he didn’t know what it  _ meant. _ “I figured if he never knew his father, at least he’d know his name.” 

Bobo’s breath caught in his throat, and he had to look away, swallowing hard. Robbie was holding on to one of the lowest bars of the set, jumping up so his feet came off the ground but not yet strong enough to hold himself there. He was giggling, his hair ruffled messily like Doc’s when he hadn’t brushed it in a while and his hat didn’t keep it under control. 

Doc’s hand on his arm, warm fingers tracing down to rest on his wrist, startled him back to himself. “Robert,” he said, and Bobo had to bite his tongue to keep from jerking away from Doc’s touch. “I-- we said no strings, remember? I didn’t know if you’d  _ want _ a kid, and he was  _ mine, _ Robert, I wasn’t going to let some alpha I’d just met choose that for me.” 

“You think I would’ve told you to--?  _ No,” _ said Bobo, and he  _ did _ jerk away, then, right off the bench, standing without thinking, hunching his shoulders to keep from looking like he was looming over the other man. “No, I--  _ no, _ John Henry. I wouldn’t have made you  _ choose _ anything, that was  _ your _ choice, I--” 

The stuttering words died in his throat as Doc rose to his feet in one smooth motion, the other man stepping right into his space and catching his hands in his own, his hat somehow on the park bench and his hair unruly from how quickly it had been yanked away, and he was  _ so damn close _ that it would be nothing to lean forward a breath and kiss him-- 

\--but he couldn’t. He  _ couldn’t-- _

_ “Robert,” _ said Doc, his tone sharp, fingers digging into Bobo’s arms, and Bobo took a breath, the growl in his chest fading as he realised what he’d been doing. “Robert, it’s alright. I know. I didn’t know  _ then, _ but I--” He leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together, and  _ then _ Bobo could breathe again. “I know, Robert. I’m sorry, I could’ve tried harder to track you down, but I had to… figure out how to be a dad, first. And then Robbie was getting bigger, and I still had to teach, and I-- I am truly sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” 

Bobo’s hand crept up to curl in Doc’s hair, his eyes closed. He wanted to sneeze again, so much of the suppressant clogging his nose, but under it he could smell  _ Doc, _ and he wanted to shove his nose into the other man’s hair and  _ smell _ him. 

But he didn’t. 

Because that would be rude, and they were in public, and they’d never talked about dating, and-- 

“Can I,” said Bobo, without moving, without opening his eyes, “take you on a date?” 

Doc’s arms slid around him, pulling him into a hug, and this time Bobo  _ did _ turn his head to bury his nose right behind Doc’s ear, his hair soft against Bobo’s skin, Doc’s whole body rumbling with his laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

_ “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad,” _ sang a voice, right before a small body slammed into their legs, and Bobo’s grip tightened on Doc to keep them both from getting knocked over. “Dad, who’s this, who’s this? I wanna hug, too!” 

“Okay, Robbie, you can hug, too,” said Doc, letting go of Bobo, and the loss of his touch was  _ cold _ in the sudden brush of cool wind whipping through the park. Doc bent down and hauled Robbie up onto his hip, held securely against his body by one arm, and reached out with the other to catch Bobo’s hand again. “What do you say, Robbie?” he said, keeping his eyes on Bobo. 

“Can I hug,  _ please,” _ said Robbie, and Doc’s smile was too warm to look at without burning, so Bobo looked to the boy. 

There was a tiny white patch of hair in the boy’s right eyebrow, just like his, and when Doc reached up to brush the messy dark hair out of Robbie’s face, Bobo saw there was another patch of white right at the boy’s left temple. 

“Looks a lot like his father, doesn’t he?” said Doc softly, raw  _ pride _ in his voice, and Bobo couldn’t look at him, couldn’t  _ breathe-- _

“Do you  _ like _ hugs?” said Robbie, and Bobo managed a nod, and Robbie’s tiny hand was reaching out, his whole upper body leaning toward Bobo, and Doc stepped in, his free arm around Bobo’s waist, and Robbie’s arms went right around Bobo’s neck. 

Bobo breathed in, and Robbie squeaked, right by his ear. 

“You smell nice,” said the boy, his voice too loud, and just right, and Bobo pulled them both in close and breathed  _ them _ in, that boy and that man who he  _ loved _ with every fibre of his being like he’d never loved anything before. “I like you.” 

“I like you, too,” murmured Bobo, and he could feel Doc laughing again, warm and solid right there in his arms, and he wanted to kiss him. 

Wanted to push him down on that park bench and take him right then and there, but  _ their son _ was present, as was plenty of other witnesses who didn’t need to be privy to their private lives in such a public space, and-- 

“I think,” said Doc, warm,  _ laughing, _ “we should take our lunch somewhere else. Hmm?” 

“Lunch?” repeated Robbie, squirming in their embrace, and Doc laughed again, louder, pulling back so he could lower the boy to the ground. 

“Lunch,” confirmed Doc, and when Bobo risked a glance at him he was smiling that smile of his that made Bobo weak at the knees, and it was directed right at him. “And maybe dessert, later.” 

Robbie ripped into the paper bag when directed toward it, and Bobo took a moment to catch his breath, only for Doc to lean in close to press a searing kiss to his cheek. 

“And maybe once a certain _little_ _fellow_ has gone to sleep,” murmured Doc, right in his ear, “his parents can get _reacquainted_ with each other.” And his hand trailed down Bobo’s chest, right along the buttons of his shirt, pulling away just before Doc’s fingers reached his belt. 

And Doc  _ winked _ at him before striding over to sit beside their son on the bench, grinning wildly. 

Bastard. 

But a bastard who’d promised Bobo a  _ date. _

With a slow grin, Bobo settled onto the bench on Robbie’s other side, graciously accepting the sandwich that was shoved at him. 

Doc grinned at him over Robbie’s head, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he waggled his eyebrows at Bobo, who shook his head with a snort. 

Doc was a  _ ridiculous _ bastard, but-- 

Bobo could live with that. 

As long as he had Doc, and Robbie, he could live through  _ anything.  _

**Author's Note:**

> ~~brownie points to anyone who can spot the itty bitty refence to one of tim rozon's movies~~


End file.
